


Status Quo Ante

by ValiantBarnes (Cimila)



Series: Inveniet viam, aut faciet. [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Friendships, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Military Academy, Murder, Original Character Death(s), POV Third Person Limited, Past Child Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Slash, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cimila/pseuds/ValiantBarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They called him The Boy and, soon enough, Hux's Boy. This Boy, dark haired and dark eyed and soft and harsh by turns,  followed Hux like a sad little shadow around the once great corridors of the run-down ship serving as the First Order's Officers Academy. </p><p>Hux called him Ren, for future ambitions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Status Quo Ante

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moscca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moscca/gifts).



> So, this is for the lovely Moscca for the [Kylux Fic Exchange](http://kyluxexchange.co.vu/)who gave me two amazing prompts, and I came so very close to choosing the other one but in the end I wrote for this wonderful prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _Ben Solo is kidnapped by Snoke as a child and given to a young Hux, in hopes that Hux will train him to be a weapon of the Dark side and suppress his Light tendencies. Ben develops a strong attachment to Hux, which Hux utilizes to his advantage. +1 for some Stockholm Syndrome, but the writer can take this in pretty much any direction!_
> 
>  
> 
> I have wilfully grabbed the last sentence of the prompt and run off with it, because I started writing and then just kinda ran in one direction and never looked back. This is actually just the back story to what I wanted to write, which I didn't get finished in time. Soon. Soon. Hope you enjoy, and May the Fourth be with you!!
> 
> (PS: I wasn't sure what you counted as gore?? So I just kinda didn't really get very graphic with the violence. There's some vague descriptions but nothing explicit. Hope it's okay!)

Hux lands his first important task at the age of fourteen, and adjusts his projected future path accordingly. He’s not sure why he was given this particular job, why a young child was placed into his ‘tender mercy’, why anyone would give him a precious child - and the boy _was_ precious, treasured, obviously so - when his most distinctive characteristics are his hair and ruthlessness. Hux has no mercy in his heart for soft things, no mercy in his heart for anything, and yet it is he who is called before the father he rarely sees, and it is into his care that the boy was placed.

The Boy, capitals, as he doesn’t seem to have a name. At least, not one that he’s capable of sharing. Hux had asked him only once. The Boy had made as if to answer, mouth have shaping a sound, before he cringed and flinched away and shook his head. He was shaking all over, minute shivers that told Hux all he needed to know about The Boy.

Hux was not his first… guardian, to put it politely. The Boy had had someone else before he was entrusted into Hux’s care, someone who didn’t seem to know the difference between shaping raw material, hardening it, and shattering it irreparably. Hopefully the boy wasn’t permanently broken, because that would make it almost impossible for him to survive in the Academy.

Broken things do not last long in the Academy, and trying to protect a broken thing would be almost impossible, and most certainly suicidal. Their graduating class would be only a fraction of the size of their intake class; those who are weak and unworthy are eliminated, in one way or another. Hux has personally had a hand in thinning the ranks. Having a scared, weak boy clinging to his side for however long his assignment lasted for would prove to be a block of carbonite around his feet - or it would be, were Hux anyone else.

As things currently stood, however, Hux had been getting bored. It’d been too long since someone had stumbled, since they were brought down by their always hungry classmates. Too long since Hux himself got ruin someone. It would be interesting to see who would be the first to throw their fragile, humanoid body against the unrelenting rock that was Hux’s will.

 

The first to try is V’rak. It’s not even been a full standard day since Hux was pulled from class and given The Boy, told he had to guide him, train him, teach him; _protect him_ , his father hadn’t said, but he’d heard it anyway. He’d taken The Boy through the corridors of the ship, watched as The Boy’s dark, doe eyes had hesitantly looked around, staring at the patchwork walls. Once, these corridors would have been magnificent to walk through, shined and buffed to perfection. Now, however, the remnants of the Empire barely had enough resources to go around. They were lucky to even get this ship, patched and old and rundown as it was.

The Boy didn’t say anything about the state of the walls; didn’t say anything at all. But whenever he caught Hux looking at him, he shrank in on himself - remarkable, considering how small the child was already.

 _Boy_ , Hux had thought as they approached the barracks, _they’re going to eat you alive_.

They would try, at least - and Hux would stop them, would feast from their carcasses and strengthen himself whilst doing so. He would not be brought low by someone else, _for_ someone else.

Hux can’t help the way his lips form into an approximation of a smile as the doors to the barracks slide open, waiting for the reaction to The Boy. He is not disappointed. There are cruel eyes and sharp teeth and violent hands on every person in the room, and they’re all aimed at The Boy. The Boy who, predictably, ducks behind Hux. Hides his small frame, and doe eyes, and sad, down turned lips like it could possibly save him. As though anything but Hux's good will and inclination to obey orders could save him.

He could turn invisible, and it still wouldn’t save him. The cadets, Hux has known since he started at the academy, are like akk dogs. They scent fear and blood and terror and love nothing better than the thrill of the chase. Unlike akk dogs, they won’t abandon the hunt if their prey stands up for themselves. You have to win to stop them, and sometimes not even then - they know what respect is only because it’s beaten into them. They respect their teachers, their superiors, the Empire, but barely each other. And certainly not frightened little boys trying to hide behind older boys and non regulation hair.

All eyes turn to Hux, waiting for him to do something. The Boy has the nerve to attempt to hide behind _Hux_ , of all people. _Surely_ , he can almost hear them thinking, can see it in the way their faces twist in anticipation, _surely this will be a good show_. They’re on the edges of their assigned bunks, waiting. Waiting still. Hux looks around the room, sees that there has not been an additional bed added for The Boy. Someone in admin will likely attend to it soon enough, but probably not tonight. There are always more important things to do than cater for mere children, after all. Which means that The Boy will have to sleep either on the floor or with Hux.

The latter option is probably the safest; Hux doesn’t know how heavily The Boy sleeps and this will eliminate the potential complication of someone cutting The Boy’s throat while they sleep.

“Boy.” He can almost feel The Boy jerk to attention upon being addressed, the child has huddled so close to his back.

“Follow me.” He pays attention as he walks through the barracks, steps dogged by The Boy, of course he does. The important thing is that he looks as though he is inattentive. Somehow, some of Hux’s fellow cadets haven’t yet learnt the art of subterfuge. Everything they think and feel and want and know is written plain as the stars on their faces. Worse, they barely seem to comprehend the fact that other people excel at deception. They’ll be the next ones culled, Hux is sure.

Hux sits on the covers of his bed, back to the wall, and removes his data pad from the small, standard bag he carries his things in for class. The Boy doesn’t move from where he hovers awkwardly near the corner of Hux’s bed until he receives explicit permission. Then, he fumbles his shoes off, climbs on the bed, and curls in on himself into the smallest, most pathetic ball Hux has ever seen, right next to Hux’s still booted feet. The temptation to kick him is overwhelming, but Hux resists. For now.

Instead, he looks down at his data pad and starts to read, attention split between his work and attempting to identify who’ll be the first one to snap out of whatever sort of collective shock has seized the cohort. Someone brash, who’s barely kept their head above water in the strategy subjects. Either V’rak or Desera; except Desera’s learning how to wait, how to read a situation, ever since they witnessed their sister die during a training exercise due to an unfortunate amount of faith in her sibling's planning abilities.

Which leaves V’rak.

Not even five minutes pass before the other teen walks from his assigned bunk to Hux’s, and the smarter members of their cohort watch avidly. They’ll be able to plan their future interactions with Hux and The Boy around this one, so Hux will be sure to make it a good one.

“Hux.” V’rak has never been able to grasp the notion of a clipped ‘x’ sound. The red haired teen isn’t sure whether it’s because V’rak’s an idiot, or whether it’s due to whatever near human species has wormed it’s way into his ancestry, altering his vocal chords. The result is the same, nevertheless - a distinctly displeasing hissing sound whenever the other boy addresses him. Hux's been waiting for an opportunity to rid himself of the sound since he first heard it.

“Your new plaything looks breakable.” He says, looking more at the now distinctly cowering form of The Boy than at Hux. A mistake, always. He could draw this out, of course, make a show of it, but Hux only ever does that if he needs to make an example of someone. He doesn’t need to make an example out of V’rak, only a standard. Any examples will come later, after they've disregarded this initial warning.

About a quarter of the data pads are ancient enough to need some sort of stylus to work at maximum efficiency. Hux had not been issued with one of these pads; he soon found himself in possession of one, for this exact reason. The stylus should be lightweight, impossible to throw with any precision. It should also be rounded, blunt. It is not any of those things. It sails through the air easily, sinks deep into V’raks left eye. He howls outrageously, and permanently damages the eye by stupidly attempting to claw it out, instead of heading for medbay. The stylus comes free with a rush of slightly too light to be human blood, dropping to the floor with a deceptively delicate sound.

“What a coincidence, V’rak - so do you.” Hux drawls, attention seemingly returned to his pad. He notes the reactions around the room as he does. It’s a mix between glee at the violence, at a new weakness to claw at, and carefully neutral faces. The latter is the most dangerous, and Hux makes a mental note of who to watch out for.

The Boy is shaking now, would likely be moving the entire bed were it not bolted to the floor. Hux thinks he might be staring at the ruin of V’rak’s eye, at the blood and fluid running down his face, staining his uniform. The cadet storms off, conceding the victory to Hux in favour of attempting to save his eye. It's too late for that, and they all know it. V'rak's going to have to improve drastically in all areas if he's going to survive. Hux is highly doubtful of such a thing occurring.

“Boy.” Hux says, and only looks up after he’s sure he has The Boy’s full attention.

“Retrieve my stylus.” He orders, and watches at The Boy races to comply. He almost falls off the bed, so eager is he to clamber down and grab the bloodied instrument. The Boy even wipes the stylus off on the hem of his dark, soft sleeve before he hands it over.

“Thank you.” Hux says, because every time he fails to use the politeness his mother taught him, he feels the sting of a belt across his back. It’s all in his head now, of course, but some lessons never fade. The Boy freezes when Hux thanks him, eyes going larger and darker and suspiciously shiny. He ducks his head in something that could be an approximation of a ‘you’re welcome’ and Hux adds ‘basic courtesy’ to the list of things he’ll have to teach the boy. Along with strategy, and tactics, and likely self defence as well.

The Boy spends the rest of the evening before lights out curled on the end of Hux’s bed, watching Hux read. They’re not confined to their barracks in the hours between class end and lights out, but Hux decided to err on the side of caution and stay in the easily controlled environment of the barracks. Curled in on himself, The Boy has protected what most humanoids routinely consider to be their ‘soft spots.’ Except for his eyes. They peer out from behind messy dark hair and the cloth of his arms. Even after lights out, Hux can feel their weight upon him.

 

Their first month together is not a disaster. The Boy sits in on Hux’s lessons, watches and listens with rapt attention. After, while Hux studies, he talks through the material with The Boy, explaining as they go. Or, talking at The Boy, at least. Because The Boy doesn’t talk. Sometimes he’ll write something, proving he’s capable of some form of communication, but mostly he sits there like a sponge and Hux tries to fill in the gaps in his education.

The Boy also doesn’t respond to Galactic Standard Sign Language, Kallidahin, Twi’leki, or Imperial Basic Sign.

It’s infuriating, not knowing if The Boy is actually listening to anything Hux is saying, and unable to verbally quiz him on it. For all Hux knows, The Boy is zoning out whilst he should be listening, and is instead thinking of all the stars in the void or something equally as ridiculous. The only way to actually test whether The Boy is listening or not, is paying attention and learning, would be to pass over his data pad and let the boy attempt to complete some of Hux’s coursework. And, were it possible to change an answer after you’d entered it, Hux would do exactly that. It is not possible, however, and Hux isn’t going to potentially endanger his grade for one boy, regardless of whether or not The Boy is his.

And The Boy _is_ his, now. All the cadets know, and even the teachers who presumably are aware of The Boy’s actual name - they all call him Hux’s Boy. And they’re right. Had he a name, he’d likely still be called some variation of Hux’s Boy. Because Hux protects him, and keeps him safe, and ensures no one steals the food off his plate and makes him go hungry. He belongs to Hux in a way that nothing has ever before, and the teen wants to wrap his hungry, grasping claws around The Boy and never, _ever_ let anyone else near him again.

In the month since The Boy came into Hux’s possession, there have seven further incidents. Five of them were more of an attempt to feel out the boundaries than actual incidents; the remaining two were because of V’rak. And now, V’rak’s bunk has been emptied, leaving a place for The Boy in the barracks (not that the child appears keen to take it, apparently content to curl around Hux’s feet like a domesticated pet), and boundaries have been firmly set.

The boundaries are as follows:

The Boy is Hux’s.

Do not touch The Boy.

Hux does not share well.

All in all, it’s a nice, easy set of rules that everyone should be able to follow simply enough.

As always, Hux is repulsed by the sheer stupidity of humans and near humans alike. The boundaries are obvious, and well reported. Gossip is an essential part of cadet life, and learning to tell what’s true from what’s false an excellent skill. So everyone should be aware that The Boy belongs to Hux. Living in the academy, aboard a bare bones ship with limited resources, you do not often get to own things. Possessions are shared or hoarded, with no in between. And once people are aware you have something to hoard, they’ll pick and prod and scrape and tear and do anything to rip it out of your hands and into their own.

There had been a small animal on board, once. It had stowed away inside a food shipment. One of the cadets found it, and instead of killing it, or reporting it, they kept it. Cared for it. Loved it. But the cadet didn’t protect their secret well enough, didn’t protect the animal well enough at all. In the end, the small thing was torn apart by tens of jealous, reaching hands who wanted what they didn’t have. The cadet was stupid enough, soft enough, that they couldn’t protect the one thing in the entire galaxy they had to themselves.

When it happened, Hux had sneered at the traumatised cadet, older than him by two or so years. Hux would never do something so foolish as get attached to something which couldn’t protect itself - would never do something as ludicrous as get attached to _anything_ , period. But if _he_ had had something, Hux'd thought, if he ever had something that was solely his, he would fight tooth and nail to keep it. And if anyone was ever foolish enough to take it from him, he would make sure they had hours to regret it before he finally put them out of their misery. He wouldn’t wander around with that lost look, with tears and sorrow and in a uniform still covered in blood.

It was almost a mercy, when the cadet was put down.

The point of it was, if you owned something, if you possessed something, make sure that no one could ever take it from you. Hux had been under the impression that he’d done such a thing. Three cadets were in the medbay, in what would medically be considered a coma, two had been permanently removed, and one wouldn’t even glance at his Boy if they chanced to pass each other in the hallways. And yet, it was not good enough. Still, people thought that they could steal away what belonged to Hux.

He should have known that such an obvious possession would require more than firm but fair boundary setting. Instead, he’d assumed that his peers were smart enough to - ah, but that’s the problem isn’t it. It’s rare when Hux overestimates the intelligence of the other cadets at the academy, holding such a low estimation of them as he does, but it does happen sometimes. When he assumes that they all possess a modicum of common sense and self preservation. Most do, but not all.

Not the three who took a brief moment of distraction to swoop in and take his Boy. No, those three must have a death wish. Luckily for them, Hux is feeling generous. Very, very generous.

When he’d turned back around, only to see an empty spot where The Boy should have been, Hux hadn’t bothered to waste time being surprised. Instead, he’d quickly evaluated the situation and come to one swift, instant conclusion:

He needs to set an example.

Starting with the cadet he’d been talking to. Nicimb mightn’t have had any hand in the planning or execution, as it was likely just a crime of opportunity and he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. _But_ he would have been able to see what had happened, when it was happening, and he’d kept his mouth shut. Instead, Hux had turned around in time to see the small group disappearing around a far corner.

Nicimb was stupid enough to still be standing within arms reach of Hux when the red haired teen turned back around. He realised his mistake quickly, but not quick enough to escape Hux’s punishing left cross. He doesn’t kill the other cadet, not yet. He doesn’t have the time, needs to get to his Boy before any of the three imbeciles who took him do irreparable harm to him. Sure, Hux doesn’t like The Boy, but he is Hux’s to dislike, Hux’s to hurt if he so wishes. Not Beayin’s, or Bhind’s, or Desara’s.

And really, how stupid do you have to be to allow your faces to be seen? Had they been masked, or obscured their faces, Hux would currently be having a much harder time. As it was, he has all the information he needs in order to track them down. They need somewhere where they won’t be overly disturbed, somewhere they think Hux doesn’t know about, and above all a place where his year mate and the two upperclassmen feel comfortable in.

They’re obvious making towards the rarely used deck GA-23. Hux takes a shortcut, likely the same one they used. If he’s wrong, he’ll be about as far from the next possible option as he’s capable of getting whilst still being on the same ship.

Hux is not wrong.

The three of them have The Boy crowded up against a wall. All three are focused on The Boy, not paying the slightest bit of attention to their surroundings. From the other end of the corridor, Hux can see the red smeared over his Boy’s face. Beayin’s gasping, breathless laughter echoes down the corridor, undercut with Desara’s low chuckle. The sounds mask any slight noise Hux makes as he stalks towards them. He doesn’t do anything foolish, like call out, or charge in, ready to brawl. Beayin and Bhind are both older than him, both larger, even if he’s now of a height with Beayin. There's a slight chance that he could win, if he tried to fight all three of them at once. Hux has never once relied on chance, and he doesn’t intend to start now.

He slides his stylus out from his bag, rolls his shoulders once, and then he darts forward. The shiv slides easily into the flesh at the base of Beayin’s throat; he twists it on the way out, makes sure it tears. It likely looks horrifying, and Hux can imagine the look of terror on his Boy's face. Hux is more concerned with hearing her gasp for breath, than the potential psychological impact this will have on his Boy. She does try and force more air in her lungs, of course, and hastens her own death. He drops her when she starts to shake, and is stepping over her towards Bhind by the time she starts to convulse.

Bhind attempts to use his larger physical mass to rush Hux. Typical. Hux is smaller, and fortunately quicker. He slips past Bhind’s guard, only taking a glancing blow, and then he’s close enough to plunge the stylus into the slightly taller teen’s eye. It’s not like it was with V’rak, not a warning. He pushes the stylus in and in and _in_ until the other boy collapses. Then it’s just Hux, Desara and The Boy. Desara looks like they wants to move, to run, but they don’t. They just stand there, locked in place like cattail deer in speeder lights. Their eyes are wide, wet. Tears. Fear?

Disgusting.

When Hux dies, he’s not going to cry, not going to go quietly either. It appears he’s overestimated Desera, all these years. Underneath all that headstrong bravery was a cowardice so deep they can’t even fight their own demise. They remain immobile as Hux retrieves his stylus, as he walks up to them, where they’ve frozen a few feet away. It’s almost unnatural, the way they’ve frozen, but Hux doesn’t pay it any mind.

Instead, he takes his time.

They find the will to fight back, eventually. Limbs regaining movement, trying to fight Hux off, but it’s far too late by then. Hux uses their uniform to clean his hands up as much as he can, and is mostly successful. A quick wipe down of his stylus turns it from a deadly shiv back into a mere educational tool, and he slips it back into his bag as he approaches his Boy.

He looks exhausted. Chest heaving like he’s done something more than stand in one spot and watch as Hux disposes of three of their more idiotic peers. He’s not crying, though, which Hux appreciates. One of his eyes has started to swell shut, and his nose looks slightly crooked, and severely swollen. Hux doesn’t bother to ask The Boy if he’s severely injured, as he wouldn’t receive an answer. Instead, he starts inspecting the small boy himself. He doesn’t appear to be overly ginger anywhere, and waits patiently for Hux to finish patting him down.

His expression, when Hux deigns to look, is inscrutable. Hux figures he’ll never know what’s running through The Boy’s head - and then he opens his mouth, and speaks.

“Why?” He asks, voice soft and childlike. Hux isn’t about to reply ‘ _why what_?’, like an idiot. Instead, he quirks his eyebrow and waits. The Boy continues, thankfully.

“Why do you always protect me?” He sounds so confused, like the entire prospect is unfamiliar to him. Hux is aggravated that The Boy could talk _this entire time_ and simply chose not to, but pushes that aside for the time being. There are numerous things that Hux could say in answer, and all of them would be more or less correct. _The boy is his assignment, he’s carrying out his assigned job to the best of his abilities, culling the other cadets amuses and thrills him in turns_.

Instead of saying any of them, Hux feels oddly compelled to tell the truth. He sees no harm in it, so he does.

“Because you’re mine.” Simple as that. He’s not going to let anyone touch his Boy, the only thing which has been truly, solely his since he was a small child. The Boy blinks, dark eyes going wide as his mouth drops open.

“Oh.” Is all he says in return, voice still so quiet as to be almost inaudible.

“Come, Boy.” Hux demands, pulling on The Boy’s arm until the child willingly walks along beside him. They have to be out of the area before the bodies are discovered - not that there’s a rush, GA-23 being probably the most un-patrolled part of the ship. If the bodies aren’t found within a day or two, Hux’ll whisper a word here or there. Either way, everyone will know who did it, and why. Maybe if the bodies are found, slowly decaying in the corner of an abandoned deck section, people will stop. touching. his. things.

If not, Hux can always organise another demonstration. A public one.

 

The Boy talks more, after that. Answers Hux, sometimes, when he asks questions. Proves that he’s actually quite smart, underneath that soft, spoilt look he still hasn’t shed after a month and a half at the academy. He even catches on to the the way Hux has been following Nicimb with his eyes, enjoying making the other cadet anxious and afraid. They both know what’s coming, and the dark haired teen is clearly frantically attempting to find allies to side with him, to keep Hux at bay for as long as he can. He’s only got a year to go - surely he can find some way to fend off the ever encroaching shadow that is Hux’s vengeance?

It might have been possible, before the example Hux had made of Beayin, Bhindi and Desara.

Now, the rest of the cadets are practically pushing Nicimb in Hux’s direction. For some of them, it’s fear that Hux will think they’re against him, fear of becoming persona non grata like Nicimb. For others, they just want to see the carnage. Want to know what he’s going to do to top his previous demonstration.

“Why do you watch him?” The Boy asks, the day before Hux finally makes his move. Hux looks down at The Boy, who’s slowly growing. Upwards and outwards, though the latter might just be because The Boy’s stopped hunching over, desperate to be overlooked and ignored. The Boy, who’s too innocent by far - and yet, he’d watched Hux carve his way through three cadets and, afterwards, hadn’t flinched away from Hux’s touch, touch shy as he was. He hadn’t cried, hadn’t seemed shocked, hadn’t thrown up like some do, the first time they see how brutal life can be. This Boy, his Boy, has _potential_.

Hux smiles, and it’s sharp, as all his smiles are sharp - and The Boy smiles back, hesitantly. It’s a tremulous thing, flickering in and out of existence like he’s not quite sure if he’s allowed to smile.

“Tomorrow night, Boy, I’m going to show you.” The Boy’s smile gets stronger for a moment, before fading. He pales a bit, swallows nervously. Hux is going to have to train all this out of him, at some point. Such conditioning used to occupy the next spot in his attempt at a teaching schedule, just behind making sure The Boy could perform adequately in classes. Now, though, Hux has realised that there’s a more pressing issue. The best way to make sure no one can ever take your possessions from you is to arm them, weaponise them - as long as you make sure they never want to leave you.

If you teach your things how to fight, and they turn around and fight _you_ , you’re not a person who deserves to have things. Hux deserves to have things, deserves to have his Boy.

Hux isn’t an idiot. He’s going to teach his Boy how to kill their enemies (for they will have enemies, when they rise high enough - every emperor needs an intelligent bodyguard, one they can trust, and Hux is starting to think that, maybe, The Boy can be his.) And once The Boy finishes fighting, he will return to Hux and curl up on the end of his bed. His Boy will be older then, of course, as will he. But Hux somehow can’t picture The Boy any larger than he is now. Barely past Hux’s elbows, dark hair a mess, just long enough to half hide the too large ears his Boy has. Hux can’t imagine what that face will look like, as an adult. Then again, he won’t need imagination when he has the real thing.

“Hux.” The Boy whispers, as he tends to do. It’s almost like the thinks that, if he’s quiet, whoever broke him before won’t be able to hear.

“Yes.”

“I- My… Ben.” Hux almost doesn’t hear it, The Boy speaks so quietly.

“Ben?” Hux asks, curious. The Boy flinches at the sound of the name, and Hux infers that it’s likely his Boy’s actual name. Clearly whatever conditioning he'd gone through before had been ineffective on every level imaginable, if he was able to overcome it to tell Hux his name. Hux would, of course, train his Boy better.

“But he… he said I couldn’t use it any more. And then he’d use it to get my attention. And then-” The Boy, Ben, cuts himself off, shuddering in a way that’s slowly becoming increasingly rare.

Hux understands the method, knows how effective negative reinforcement can be - when used correctly. Whoever had The Boy - Ben - before Hux was so clearly incompetent that it was starting to aggravate Hux. They should never have been given his Boy. His Boy was going to be great, once Hux trained him. He could only imagine the leaps and bounds they’d currently be making if he hadn’t had to slowly rebuild what had been broken.

“Do you want me to call you Ben?” Hux asks, tilting his head to the side slightly. Ben shivers, shaking his head rapidly, dark hair flying.

“No.” He says, softly, and Hux waits patiently for his Boy to get to the crux of the matter. “But I want a name.” A reasonable request. It was dehumanising to be constantly referred to as the property of someone - but that was the point, you see. Before, The Boy had only barely been able to tolerate Hux’s presence. Stayed as far away as he possibly could whilst still being safe. And then due to the lack of name, people began to call him Hux’s. Any one of them could have named him, given him a nickname, but this was better. Stripping a person down until they were nothing, until they could only define themselves by another.

And after a while, with the idea that he was Hux’s Boy reinforced constantly, The Boy would almost start to believe it. He might have resisted it, had Hux been as inept as The Boy's previous handler. But Hux didn’t treat him especially cruelly, didn’t strike him, didn’t break him down in the traditional, overt ways. Instead, Hux had seemingly ignored any attempts at conditioning, at moulding The Boy the way he wanted, until The Boy had given up all attempts at resistance. What was there to resist, after all? Indifference? Company? Education?

And now they’re here, where The Boy is asking for a name, asking for permission to a basic human concept, because he hasn’t just been told he belongs to Hux, be knows it, _believes_ it. Hux could say no, tell The Boy that he wasn’t allowed a name, and The Boy would accept it. But Hux is in a magnanimous mood, so he decides to allow it. No one has to know he’s named The Boy, after all. Naming a thing implies that you care, which Hux most certainly does not. But he wants his Boy to think he cares, so he gives a small, sharp smile.

“Have a name in mind?” He asks, and his Boy shakes his head. Good; Hux likely would have refused any names The Boy himself thought of.

“He said I’m to be a Knight of Ren.” The Boy says, swinging his legs. They don’t quite touch the floor, the bench seat slightly too high for him, but they scrape every second or third swing. Hux has no idea what the Knights of Ren are, or what they do in service to the remnants of the Empire - which Hux has heard called The First Order more and more often lately, so maybe they’ll finally have a name that sticks - but he knows there’s no way he’ll possibly be able to think of a name that goes well with that title. Hux's creativity lay in other directions, infinitely crueller ones.

“Why not just Ren, then?” He suggests, and The Boy blinks those doe eyes at him.

“But there will be other Knights.” Hux’s small smile widens into a grin.

“But you’ll be their leader, of course.”

“Really?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe it, like he doesn’t believe _Hux_ , and that is unacceptable.

“You will be their leader. You’ll be better than any of the other Knights.” It’s a childish boast, a promise he’d never have any way of enforcing, but Hux says it anyway. His Boy smiles, giggles a bit.

“Take the name and, soon enough, everyone will think the entire order’s named after you. You’ll be a legend.” Hux promises, and it sounds right. His Boy _will_ be a legend, Hux will ensure it.

“Alright.” The Boy, Ren, says in that soft way he has.

“Good. Now, Ren, before tomorrow night you must understand that Nicimb has wronged me terribly…”

Hux takes Nicimb and Ren down to GA-23. Nicimb is barely conscious, but he’s not much larger than Hux, and it’s not overly hard to manoeuvre his body there. There aren’t any outlines where the three bodies were, or stains left from the blood. Regardless, Hux knew this patch of hallway was the place he wanted, and Ren appeared to know it as well. He stared hard at three distinct places in the hall; Hux was willing to be that they’re the exact spots where the three died.

After a short time, Nicimb wakes up. His hands and feet are bound with boot laces, and it appears that he, too, knows exactly where they are.

“Oh stars, oh _stars_.” He says, voice catching. Hux smiles, and gestures for Ren.

“Today will be out first hands on lesson. I’m sure you remember my stylus.” He produces said tool from his pocket, ignores Nicimb when he make a loud, horrified noise, talks over his continued repetitions of ‘ _oh stars, oh maker, please no, no no no, gods why?_ ’

“You’ll have your own soon. Once we’re finished with Nicimb, in fact. He’s got one of the older model data pads. How convenient.” Hux smiles, knows it twists his face in an unpleasant way when Nicimb shrinks down, eyes wide and frightened.

“Are we going to kill him?” Ren asks, and Nicimb jerks visibly at the foreign voice.

“Yes. We’re going to hurt him first, though.” Hux lets his little protégé know, and Ren’s brow creases. He seems about to protest, as though he finds the idea distasteful, when Nicimb opens his mouth; louder, this time. Clearly attempting to elicit some sort of emotional response from the obvious weak link.

“No. Don’t hurt me. Don’t kill me. I haven’t done anything.” He begs. Hux wonders if he would beg for his life, we're their situations reversed. Hux thinks not. He’s seen it happen several times, from the most surprising candidates. And sometimes the softest, the weakest, go to their deaths with hard eyes and not a whisper for mercy in their hearts or minds. That's how Hux will meet his death; as cool and unflinching as the walls of a star destroyer.

“Hux said you wronged him.” Ren says, and Nicimb shakes his head.

“No, I never. I would never, never-” Hux cuts him off, expression blank, voice cold.

“And yet you said nothing when those three took Ren, though you had line of vision, and plenty of time to warn me.” Nicimb stutters over himself in an attempt to answer; Hux ignores him, as Ren chooses this moment to speak.

“So when you said he wronged you, you really meant he wronged me?” He asks, looking genuinely curious.

“They’re one and the same.” Hux is confused; hadn’t they been over this already? Ren looks up at him, through his ever growing, shaggy curtain of black hair. His face is scrunched up, like he’s concentrating hard. Hux wonders what he’s thinking about, if he’s recounting their conversation in their head. He’d already said Ren was his, everyone knew that Ren was his - a slight against Ren was the same as a slight against himself.

The boys face relaxes, and he smiles. Hux gives a quirk of the lips in return, thinking that a slight against Ren might be worse than one against Hux, due to the inherent challenge to his authority that attempting to injure Ren brings. Ren’s turned away, towards Nicimb, and the man pales. Hux doesn’t know what the teen sees in Ren’s eyes, but he wants to. He taps his Boy’s shoulders, and the child obligingly looks at him.

His dark eyes look the same as they always do, so Hux raises the stylus turned shiv in question.

“Are you ready to learn?” Ren nods, and Hux starts to unbutton the outer coat of his uniform, gesturing for Ren to do the same.

“First thing’s first. How to avoid getting blood on your clothes.”

 

Once every two months, all the cadets are called to what serves as their auditorium based on their assigned dorm room, and their heads are shaved. Ren still sleeps at the foot of Hux’s bed, an odd weight that he’s slowly becoming accustomed to. Ren was aware that V’rek’s old bed was available for him if he wanted, and he’d scavenged the blankets from it. Apart from that, he appeared to have no interest in it, so Hux didn’t pressure him. It wouldn’t do for someone to get cocky and think they could ambush his Ren in the middle of the night - not yet, at least. Once Ren’s able to properly defend himself, Hux is sure that the boy will excel.

He certainly seems to have taken to violence like a Felucian flying manta to air, something Hux was delighted by. That quiet boy had a mean streak to him, and Hux couldn’t wait to bring it out.

In the meantime, haircuts.

Ren had missed the previous round by about a week, and in the seven weeks since then, his hair has only grown longer and wilder. It’s almost a shame to watch it get buzzed down to skin. Without it, however, his Ren looks harder. Then again, his prominent ears are now on display. Hux has his own already short hair buzzed back without complaint, glad to be rid of the bright red strands that set him apart from the other cadets. Red is rare, especially in what’s now officially the First Order. His mother has red hair, had red hair. Hux isn’t sure whether she’s alive to claim such a thing. Doesn’t particularly care, either.

Ren cares, about his mother, about Hux’s mother. Even with the meanness he has within him, he cares. Hux isn’t sure what to do with that. He can half remember a time when he cared about people other than himself, but not truly. Sometimes he thinks he cares for Ren, but he reminds himself of the cadet with it’s small, soft animal, and the haunted look in their eyes after they’d watched it die horribly. That’s what it’s like to care - pain.

So Hux reminds himself that he doesn’t care about Ren, he only pretends to care in order to ensure the boy’s continuing loyalty. Simple.

“Hux can I, can I show you something?” Ren asks. They’re down on GA-23, in the section which has officially become abandoned. The backup lights don’t even flick on any more, as if that could ever stop Hux if he intended to use this place again. This section of the deck has a small view port, maybe a metre and a half across, just big enough for a thin teen and a small boy to sit in front of and watch the stars. It’s all the light they have if Hux and Ren turn their datapads off, that of the passing stars and systems. No one bothers them down here, and they’re able to talk as they will without being overheard.

“Yes.” He replies, looking up from his pad, sharp stylus clicking rhythmically against the hardy surface. Ben gets that look he gets, sometimes, clearly concentrating. Hux feels a tug at his hand, and looks down in time to see his stylus gently wiggle free of his grip and float upwards. Hux stares at it for a few moments, utterly astonished.

“Ren, what…” He trails off, not even sure how to word his question.

“It’s the Force.” Ren replies, and Hux wants to snap that he knows that, but he doesn’t, because he really, really doesn’t. He’s heard of things such as this before, of course - everybody has. But it’s all friend of a friend of a second cousin thrice removed sort of stories. No one’s ever actually _seen_ someone with the Force, not since Vader and Skywalker.

Ren makes the stylus do a spin through the air, before sending it back towards Hux, who carefully taps it with a finger. It doesn’t twirl off, like it’s stuck in some sort of localised anti-grav field, just waits patiently for him to take it. So he does, taps it against his pad absent-mindedly while he stares at Ren.

“That’s… Ren, I’ve never seen anything like it.” Hux says, truthfully.

“My Uncle can do better.” Ren demurs, looking away from Hux and out the transparisteel view port.

“I don’t care about your kriffing uncle, Ren.” Hux tells him, firmly. Ren looks back with surprise writ large across his features. Now that his hair’s shaved to regulation, it’s become abundantly clear that Ren’s incapable of maintaining a neutral face. It’s rapidly moved up the list of thing Hux’s going to teach. There’s silence for a moment, and then Ren swallows, and launches into what sounds like a comprehensive list of the things he can do well, and things he can kind of do, and things he’s still practicing. His face is serious, and were it not for the excitement in his voice, it would sound like Ren is reciting a resume.

It’s fascinating, what Ren can do. (Amusing, seeing the normally subdued boy so boisterous.)

And then something clicks into place, something that Hux hadn’t realised he’d still been turning over in his mind until this very moment.

“Ren, with Desera, did you-?” The young boy blinks, shrinking in on himself as he nods, as though he expects to be reprimanded.

“Yes.” He’s back to being too quiet, all previous enthusiasm gone from his voice. And of course, _of course_ , Desera hadn’t frozen in fear. Hux had spent years in their company, years living in the same barracks. He hadn’t somehow missed an entire facet of their personality, he had not been wrong. Desera had wanted to do something, anything, Hux had seen the desperation in their eyes - and the anger, not fear. And still they had not moved - he’d spent days running through everything he’d known about them, trying to find anything that he’d somehow missed. But he hadn’t missed anything.

If they could have Desera would have done something, would have fought or run or used their last moments to act. But they couldn't, held physically immobile because of Ren. His Ren held Desera there with his… power, with this ‘Force.’ Held them there whilst Hux had taken his stylus to the soft skin of their throat and face and carved an example out of their flesh.

“Well done. That must have taken a lot of power. And concentration.” He remembered how hard Ren had been breathing afterwards, dismissing it as adrenaline or panic. He hadn’t congratulated his boy then, unaware of what he’d done. It’s good, to see Ren light up at such words.

“Yeah. It did. I lost control at the end. I thought Desera was gonna hurt you.” Ren confides earnestly, and Hux can’t help but chuckle. The naivety of the boy, thinking Hux couldn’t handle one of his peers.

“Highly doubtful, but thank you for your concern. Your help was much appreciated.” The boy’s pale skin flushes red, and he suddenly has trouble holding Hux’s gaze.

“You’re welcome.” Ren mumbles, obviously pleased. Hux smiles a sharp, dangerous smile. Oh, the things he could do with Ren at his side. The things he _would_ do. Hux looks out the view port at the stars and the galaxies stretching out in front of them, seemingly infinite, and he thinks,

_With Ren by my side, I will conquer each and every one of you._

 

Ren has shadowed Hux to each of his classes for almost three months, and Hux has tutored him extensively. He’s averaging a grade just below the rough middle of the class, but considering the class is four years ahead of what he should be learning, he’s doing excellently. Hux has spent a few minutes, here and there, wondering what might have happened had Ren been assigned to someone else, perhaps someone his own age. Or even just, what if Ren had had to room with those his own age, when he first arrived.

The vicious brats would have torn him limb from limb.

No, all other alternatives are unacceptable. It’s best that Ren is with him, in his classes and barracks and life.

Unfortunately, this also means that Ren is now eligible for the practical elements of their classes. At first it’s only field stripping blasters, and Ren does quite well. ‘ _My father taught me most of it,_ ’ he confides to Hux one day, on GA-23, sitting close to share warmth. The heating is still on in this section, but only because without it temperatures would quickly fall to sub-zero and it would soon cause problems for the rest of the ship. It doesn’t mean it’s warm, by any means.

Ren talks about his family, sometimes. Never much, just a few sentences here and there. It’s obvious he still cares about them, misses them. He asks Hux about his, once or twice, but stops after Hux enlightens him to fact of the Admiral being his father. They talk mostly about their classwork, or about what Ren needs to know or be taught, or about ‘the Force.’ Sometimes they talk about other things, things that Hux knows are unimportant, useless. Yet he finds that they talk about them anyway. Why his preference in matter such as colours and flavours and planets and temperatures matter, Hux doesn't know. Why he indulges Ren is also a mystery.

But none of those useless things will happen again if Ren dies during the training exercise they were chosen for. One fifth of their cohort have been randomly selected, and he and Ren are part of the lucky few. It’s survival on a planetary surface; they’ll be in pairs, sent down with barely enough to survive on and a single blaster each. Hux has not been paired with Ren, and feels like stripping the flesh of each and every one of their instructors until they see the error in their ways.

He cannot do that, unfortunately, so he settles for pulling Ren to the side when they’re on their way to the shuttles and informing him in no uncertain terms that there is no one in the exercise Hux wants to see alive at the end more than Ren - and that Ren dying isn’t an option, so he better be ready to kill the people he’s been half heartedly/half hopefully trying to become friends with because _any other option isn’t one_. It’s only later, when they’re in different shuttles headed down to the surface of whatever hell hole’s been chosen for this exercise that Hux realises he’d inferred that he’d prefer Ren to live over himself.

Blatantly untrue, he tells himself. There’s no one Hux would rather see alive more than himself; however, Ren had somehow crept up into second in Hux's regard. And a disturbingly close second, at that. He’s put a lot of time and energy into the younger boy, after all, and it’d be a shame to see it all wasted because of one stupid training exercise. The thought of all that time and energy and effort wasted with Ren's death is what's souring Hux's stomach. Nothing more, nothing less. Hux decides that it’s the last he’s going to think of it, and instead turns his attention to the others in the shuttle with him.

They’re from different barracks, most older than him. All older than Ren. People he doesn’t know too well. They must be trying to thin out the ranks, to be holding such a mixed training mission. The girl he’d been partnered with has hard eyes, and he likes the look of them. She nods at him, once, and Hux nods back. He’s not sure how long their truce will hold for; hopefully long enough to eliminate all the others in their area and win.

Winning the game is theoretically easy. You have to capture the red flag, and hold it for a full standard day. Everyone else in the area you’ve been assigned is going to attempt to kill you, with perhaps the exception of the person you’ve been partnered with. The trick is, the items they're supplied with are a day's rations of water, and a single ration bar. Once you take the flag, you cannot leave the metre square surrounding it without resetting your timer back to zero, and starting again. No one wants to be the first sitting duck, so it becomes a hunt. Kill everyone you can find, take their supplies, survive.

Last person alive gets to spend a leisurely day with the flag. Or, last two people alive. It’s not exactly unusual for teams to win, but it’s not the norm. Hux is sure they match people up specifically to ensure that someone snaps and attempts to kill the other, ending the truce.

Fortunately for Hux, it appears that both he and the girl he’s partnered with, Mhli, are too professional to ruin a valuable truce and partnership when it’s clearly more expedient to work together. After the shuttle dropped them off, leaving to distribute other pairs to other zones, they had a quick, short conversation. It went something like this:

_“Pair win?’_

_‘Pair win.’_

They ration their already tiny food reserves just in case, and do the same for the supplies they pull off the cadets they kill. They're both healthy, so a drastic restriction in food rations won't hinder them immediately. Neither of them are sure how many shuttles there were, or how many areas - it’s intentional, of course, but still frustrating, not knowing how many people are still alive to potentially shoot you in the back.

On the third day, they start to circle towards where the flag is marked out on their map, caution in every step. They haven’t seen another cadet since the start of the day, and it was now mid morning. Prior to that, they hadn’t heard the discharge of a blaster since the previous afternoon. The teen they’d run into that morning had also been circling slowly towards the flag, but he’d been too cocky, fairly confident there was no one else.

He’d been wrong, and also had been out of rations.

They work well as a team, well oiled enough that Hux is able to let his mind drift, slightly. Not too much. Just enough to wonder if Ren thought the exercise through enough - he should have explained to him how it worked, in the brief moments before they’d been ushered in opposite directions, instead of ordering him to come back alive. What a stupid, sentimental thing to do. If Ren died on this mission, it’d be Hux’s fault for not informing him.

Maybe one of the zones has Ren’s body in the metre square, slowly being eaten by wildlife because he’d been too eager to get the flag. Maybe his partner had killed him straight out of the shuttle; maybe Ren had thought they had a truce, went to sleep and never woke up.

Hux covers an alarming amount of ground thinking about Ren, worrying about Ren. Mhli doesn’t seem to notice his distraction, and thankfully nothing complicates their slow sweep and alerts her. Eventually, nearing the end of the day, murky grey dusk starting to set in, they spot the clearing with the red flag. It’s practically a beacon, drawing all eyes to it. And, underneath, Ren.

Hux feels his heart stop in his chest, because he hadn’t thought, hadn’t even considered, that Ren could be in his zone. Could be his competition.

He’ll have to kill Ren, or be stuck here on this godforsaken rock til he dies. Because if you don’t win, and you’re still alive, you get left behind. Hux is not going to let that happen. He’s not going to starve on some kriffing planet where the sun burns so hot in the sky that his skin had started to peel before the first day was over. He hates being planetside, hates the unpredictable weather and the millions of insects, and the way his nose starts to run, sometimes, for no apparent reason. Hux is not going to die on this blight of a planet, not because of sentimentality. After all, _Hux_ is the most important person to Hux.

Besides, Ren will never know it was him, anyway. He’s munching on a ration bar, ears glowing almost as red as the flag, clearly sunburnt. His blaster’s in pieces at his feet, clearly a casualty in some skirmish or another.

Mhli signs _circle_ at him, and he signs his agreement back. They split, heading opposite ways around the clearing. Or, they would have, had Ren not chosen that moment to look up, straight at them. It’s probably the Force, Hux thinks, that alerted him to their presence. Mhli raises her blaster, as does Hux. He pulls the trigger, and she goes down, dead before she realises that Hux has terminated their alliance. As Hux strips her of her pack and anything of value, he contemplates his next move. Killing Mhli was the obvious choice; he'd never allow anyone else to kill his Boy. Now he just has to decide whether he's going to kill Ren with his blaster, or with his bare hands. The blaster is the obvious choice, Hux could shoot the younger boy now. Ren's stopped munching on his ration bar, appears to be sitting patiently, waiting for Hux. Instead, Hux finds himself walking over to Ren, and the flag, and the metre square space that they both inhabit, and cataloguing just how long he could survive on this planet, were he to be left behind. Shortly after, Hux chastises himself. That is now how it's going to play out. Either he's going to die, or Ren is. Plain and simple.

“Hey Hux.” Ren says happily, standing and stretching.

“Ren.” He replies, cordially, wondering how this is going to play out. He’s got the only blaster in reach, but Ren has the Force. The timer built into the flagpole has six hours remaining, six hours for the pair of them to come to an end, one way or another - and then Ren steps out of range of the flag, and the timer resets. Hux blinks, but the smaller boy doesn’t seem to notice his befuddlement.

“I’ve been waiting for you for _days_.” He says, in what Hux is slowly coming to learn is typical Ren theatrics.

“What happened to your blaster?” He inquires instead of dignifying Ren’s comment with a response, and the kid shrugs.

“Used it to block a shot.” He wiggles his fingers, and the pieces of ruined blaster lift themselves off the ground and spin around, before making a vague shield in front of Ren. He can still see the boy's grin, past the pieces. Feels the urge to aim his blaster and get rid of it. Feels the urge to shoot whoever tried to hurt Ren in the first place.

“You knew I was coming?” Hux changes the subject, again.

“Mmhm. Heard you worrying about an hour ago.” Hux can’t help the way his mouth drops open, and he splutters as he tries to dispute all parts of that statement at the same time.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t make any actual noise. It was all in here.” He presses a finger to his temple, and Hux decides he doesn’t have time to worry about the rest of the statement - he was not _worrying_ , thank you - because there’s still the matter of them being in the same zone.

“You ready to start the countdown? I’m pretty sure we’re the last ones left.” Ren smiles, and for the first time Hux notices faint bruises around his neck, like someone had tried to strangle him. It enrages him, the thought that someone had not only _tried_ to hurt his Ren, but had succeeded in any capacity. Whoever it was should be glad they’re dead already.

“We can’t both win. It’s impossible.”

“C’mon Hux, nothing’s impossible.” Hux raises an eyebrow at that ridiculously untrue statement, but after a moment's contemplation, walks into the metre square with Ren anyway. This way, they can wait out the twenty four hour period together. And, when the shuttle arrives and alerts them that only one can win, Ren will be close enough for Hux to kill or push out of the square. _Or,_ whispers a hideously insidious voice which has been running counter to Hux's common sense since he realised Ren was his direct competition, _close enough to make sure Ren wins._ A ridiculous thought, of course. As thought Hux would ever compromise his own victory for another.

It's a moot point, anyway. Ren was right, in the end. Their instructors actually approved of the pair of them switching allegiances, finding a more suitable peer to ally with. Hux wonders if, maybe, the point of the test wasn't to cull cadets, or test their survival abilities. Were it not so self centred, Hux would wonder whether the whole point of the test hadn't been to put pressure on his relationship with Ren. To analyse the outcome of putting them in direct competition. But Hux knows he's not important enough for that sort of test, and neither is Ren - not yet. Soon, maybe. Hopefully. Before now, Hux had never been able to think of others a constant allies. Everyone was a potential ally, and all alliances subject to change at a moments notice. Nothing permanent, because that would involve a level of trust Hux had never encountered. No one he could trust to stick by his side, regardless of other affiliations or tests or survival instinct. And now, Ren. If, when, they do get important enough for personalised tests, Hux thinks that they will ace them. No matter what, they will win because - and here's an idea which has been running through Hux's mind since the survival test, driving him half mad with the possibilities and potential - Hux can trust Ren. Weirder; Ren can trust Hux. He feels as if there must be a flaw somewhere, a trick he hasn't seen or thought of, but which is waiting just out of sight to blind side him, disable him, kill him. But... there doesn't appear to be.

If this is true, if they can actually trust each other, if Hux can trust his quiet, soft-hard, magical, doe-eyed boy then... there truly is nothing they cannot do, together. It is, in it's essence, a win/win situation, the true, real trust which somehow exists between them.

Hux hasn’t encountered many win/win situations in his life but he thinks that with Ren, maybe that will change.

 

The next year and a half goes magnificently. Together, after the practical training, it seemed like there was nothing they couldn’t do.

They celebrate the rough approximation of when they think Ren’s birthday probably is twice (the First Order has a different calendar to Galactic standard, so they’d had to approximate) and Hux’s birthday once in GA-23. They don’t have cake, or presents, or music, or party hats, all things which Hux had been informed by Ren are regular features at birthday parties - but Ren had also said it didn’t matter, and he was happy just sitting with Hux in front of the viewport.

Hux hadn’t realised people celebrated the day they were born until Ren had told him about it.

Hux is almost sixteen, two years away from graduating. He’d been worried, for a while, about what would happen when he did. Would Ren come with him? Graduate with him? Would he be posted to the same ships as Hux? Was there a note in their files somewhere which said ‘ _package deal; non-negotiable’_? Of course not. They’d be split up. Likely, Hux would graduate and be posted somewhere far away from the Officer's Academy, while Ren stayed. He’d only be fourteen, too young to really serve. It would be weird, without his little shadow, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about someone culling Ren whilst they were apart.

His vicious little protégé would do just fine without him, of course. Hux, with the help of their more foolish peers, has honed that mean streak to a sharp, dangerous edge. There's an edge of mania which Hux keeps a careful eye on, but that's not especially worrying. It's thrilling, actually, when Hux is able to see his Ren lose control and annihilate those they're culling. Still, he's become so used to being constantly with Ren that the thought of leaving Ren behind was melancholic, even though the potential event was still years into the future. Hux didn’t voice these thoughts to Ren, but the kid seemed to be getting better and better at picking up Hux’s thoughts, because he knocks his shoulders in Hux’s companionably.

“Don’t worry Hux.” Ren says, constantly, as though the mere words could stop Hux’s mind from spinning. They didn’t, but sometimes Ren’s quiet laugh helped him centre himself.

 

“My mother sent me away.” Ren says quietly, in their place on deck GA-23. It’s always quiet here. Not an echoing quiet, where anyone could hide half a corridor away and hear every word. Instead it’s a muffled silence, like the type Hux has read that graveyards and crypts have. The silence of the dead, of things that will keep their secrets.

“I tried to be good. I tried real hard. She wanted me to go to my Uncle, to learn. I didn’t want to go. My father was away; he was supposed to take me. But it got worse. So she sent me on a freighter, with my nanny-bot. She said she would have taken me, but she there was a work emergency. We were boarded.” Ren doesn’t say anything else, he doesn’t have to. Hux can extrapolate from there. Stolen; beaten and broken until he’d come to Hux. He’s twelve now, and so different from how he used to be. He wonders is Ren’s mother would recognise him. Wonders if his own mother would recognise the sharp, dangerous young man her darling, laughing son had turned into. He thinks perhaps yes, in both cases. What these theorhetical mothers would think, however, Hux doesn't even both to guess at.

“My mother sent me away as well. She sent me here.” Hux says, looking at the dark, sterile corridor. It’s nothing like the home he spent half his childhood in, and even less like the first home he can only just remember - that one had been so warm. Hux had always been warm; happy too. He’d felt neither of those things consistently since he'd been enrolled in the Academy; until Ren had been dropped in his lap, that is. The boy was always growing now, it seemed - and a furnace. Soon enough, Hux would turn around and not have to worry about elbowing Ren in the face or neck or, recently, shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Ren says, quietly, scooting minutely closer to Hux, who allowed it. It’s cold in the unused parts of the ships after all, and Ren runs hotter than anyone Hux has ever met before. Hux casually drapes an arm over Ren’s shoulder, pulling the boy closer to him. Ren smiles at the contact, an odd little smile that makes Hux curious as to what he's thinking.

“I’m glad you’re here too.” Hux says eventually, wondering if this is what it’s like to have siblings who you care about.

 

They’re called into the Admiral's office, and Hux gets to see up close the grey starting to infest his father's otherwise dark hair.

“Cadet Hux.” He says, nodding at his son, not bothering with a pretense of affection. Everyone in the room knows that Admiral Hux cares little about his son and less about familial ties.

“Boy.” He says, nodding at Ren. Though Ren's been speaking regularly for over a year, he's still refused to give anyone a name. It's a privilege reserved for Hux alone, and a privilege Hux which guards jealously. A month ago, a boy in the year below had overheard Hux say 'Ren' and had dared to use it. Hux had cut out his tongue. There’s a brief moment of silence as the Admiral assesses them both, before he turns his gaze back to Ren. He’s standing at attention, much like Hux. Only, unlike Hux, he never seems to get it right. Hux usually finds it amusing, the unintentional rebellion; he finds no amusement in it now.

“It’s been decided that you’ve reached your maximum potential in this learning environment. Your shuttle leaves in five minutes from Bay 8.” It takes half a second for Hux to understand the words, and then he feels his heart trip, then beat double time because _no_. No, Ren is his. Everyone knows he’s Hux’s. He can’t just leave, can’t be taken, because Hux has fought tooth and nail to keep him. He’s done anything and everything to bind the younger boy so tightly to him that you cannot think of one without the other - he is _Hux’s Ren_.

For all that he’s shouting in his mind, Hux’s lips stay pressed together in a firm line. He knows there is no countermanding this order. He is only a lowly cadet, not even in his last year. He has no pull, nothing he can leverage to keep Ren by his side. As if to make up for Hux’s silence, Ren becomes louder than he usually is.

“No. NO! I won’t go. I’m not. I won’t. I’m staying. _You can’t make me leave!_ ” He throws a tantrum, as though it will help their cause in any way. He turns away from the Admiral and towards Hux, reaching out and grabbing his arm.

“Hux! Say something!” He demands, pleads, and Hux unsticks his eyes from the wall over his father's right shoulder in order to look down at the teary eyed boy clinging to his arm. He says the only thing it’s possibly to say.

“Goodbye, Boy.” He remembers the cadet with the small, soft thing that he named and loved and kept and lost. Hux would not make the same mistake, would not show weakness to those who waited for it, longed for it. His father would not see him break, not over this, not ever. One of the walls creaks alarmingly with Ren’s wild emotions, and Hux keeps his gaze dispassionate, even as he desperately reaches out in the one way his father will never know.

 _Ren_ , he calls, in his mind. He’s uncertain, never really sure if it works both ways until Ren reaches back. He feels Ren now, wild and violent and angry - it hurts, to have Ren touch his mind like this. The sharp, angry pain is a better hurt than whatever it is which is unfurling in his chest. Hux is still breathing via force of will, only. If he falters, even slightly, he will never be able to recover.

 _You’re mine. I’ll find you. Mine_ , Hux thinks towards him, promises. Ren’s mind softens against his, stops giving Hux a headache, but Hux can still feel the barely leashed tempest battering Ren’s mind.

 _I’ll miss you_. Ren thinks-feels towards Hux, who can never quite grasp whether he’s having a mental conversation or feeling Ren’s emotions. Is never sure what it is that Ren’s getting from him.

 _I’ll find you._ Hux swears, again.

And then Ren is gone, rushed out of the room by a person who Hux hadn’t even noticed enter. Hux asks to be excused, and the Admiral denies him until it’s well past the time when Ren’s shuttle should have left. Hux doesn’t realise he carries the hope that maybe, somehow, Ren’s delayed the departure time long enough that he can say goodbye properly until he arrives at Bay 8 to find it empty. There aren’t even any excess personnel loitering about. Ren is gone, so far out of Hux's reach that is seems impossible for them to have ever been together. Impossible for Hux to have planned his entire future around a boy who is gone.

Ren’s things are still where he left them; Hux does not throw them out. He keeps them, long past the time when he should have discarded them. Useless sentiment. He despises himself for it.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the cadets to realise that Ren has disappeared. He wasn’t culled, not with Hux still alive to make trouble for whoever dared. Slowly the story makes the rounds. The mysterious shuttle in Bay 8, then one of the workers who saw Ren entering the shuttle eventually talks, and then they all realise what Hux already knows - Ren’s not coming back.

They start sniffing around, then, trying to find weaknesses. Ready to rip and tear and destroy he who had once been so grand. Hux doesn’t bother to attempt and dissuade them; he wants them to try, wants the violence of it, the pain, the anger. Many try, though it does nothing but thin the ranks around Hux for he does not fall. Does not falter. He has not soft bits to attack, no weaknesses to abuse. How can he, when they all flew away on a shuttle?

The rest of the cadets learn soon enough that Hux with Ren was fearsome. Hux without...

And they had thought him cruel before.

**Author's Note:**

> Also the title is in Latin because I am, at heart, a pretentious ancient history major. _Status quo ante_ is 'the way things were before', and the series title is _inveniet viam, aut faciet_ which means 'he will find a way, or make one.' The sequel to this will, obviously, have a similarly wanky title, with a similar theme. (In Greek.)


End file.
